


Delieverance

by Legionnaire24601



Series: Through the Fires [3]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Changelings, Gen, Gumm-Gumms, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Pre-Series, Series, Trolls, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-05-30 05:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15090200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legionnaire24601/pseuds/Legionnaire24601
Summary: Deya turned in time to witness his blade coming down from the left. Deya tried to back away. The song of screaming metal filled the air as pain erupted from Deya’s shoulder. The sword sliced down diagonally across her chest.And the amulet of Merlin flickered blue as it flew.





	1. Prologue: The Lady Johanna

**Author's Note:**

> The Third and Final installment of the Through the Fires Series. Fair warning this tale promises to be a lot darker and violent than the previous stories. Thou hast been warned.

_“The wheel of fortune rises and falls.”_

_Those words echo in the deepest darkest corners of her memories when she least expects them to._

_“The wheel of fortune rises and falls, My Lady… and right now your father is in desperate need of allies and ships.” Her teachers words did not bring her comfort, nor did it seem like he intended them to, Finnian said them merely to make her understand._

_“I don’t want to get married.” Johanna repeated quietly, hating the fear that was clear and present in her words._

_“I know.” He sighed. And she knew he did._

_“I wish I could help you, but a tutor has no business meddling in royal affairs. You understand how it is.”_

_Johanna didn’t, but she nodded anyway, hoping as the day approaches that the feeling of trepidation will dwindle. But she begins to learn more about this so called Emrik Roland and instead of relief she finds herself fighting against the wave of dread that is threatening to drag her permanently under._

_“I feel like I’m being carried out to sea.” She confesses to her father one night._

_“The sea is as beautiful as it is mysterious Johanna; perhaps she’ll take you some place better.” He tries to reassure her but her father’s words fall flat. She has heard tales of her soon-to-be husband. Knows her father has heard them too. Tales of the viscous, angry man that even the Danes are scared of._

_“You’ll be fine.”_

_“You’ve heard what he’s like.” Johanna whispers at him accusingly._

_Edward says nothing and looks away._

_Johanna hates the sound of bells. Right now they are tolling to announce a wedding, her wedding. And with each passing knell the urge to run away and never look back rises within her. For There, Standing at in front of the church alter is the captain of the Leviathan, the Sea serpent himself. Taller than most and dressed in white Johanna is  surprised when she sees that he is handsome, they never mentioned that in the tales, and he is younger than she thinks anyone was expecting. Johanna almost relaxes, almost allows herself to believe that perhaps her future is not as bleak as she had been lead to believe but then she peers into his eyes, and she sees… nothing. This man is as cold as the lands from where he was born. The foreboding wave of dread, manages to pull her under this time, and Johanna can hardly breathe as she realizes that the man she will be spending the rest of her existence with has no soul._

_She did not want to get married, certainly not now and most definitely not to this man with his cold, empty and cruel eyes. The uttering of vows, an exchange of hands and it’s over. Regretfully Johanna passes her small palm from her father’s reluctant hand to her new husband’s far too eager grasp._

* * *

 

Her Husband’s new crown captured the torch light, setting the bronze circlet a flame.  Johanna watched as Emrik pushed back the crown so it rested on the tawny mop of his hair. He removed it with a sigh, rolled it in his hands and then put it back on before visibly growing frustrated and pushed it forward again. Johanna sat next to him, repeatedly worrying at the fabric of her dress, wringing the blood red cloth up with a bored hum before trying to smooth out the wrinkles that formed from her ministrations. She flinched in surprise as Emrik’s hand shot out to grab her wrist before he loomed over to whisper in her ear.

 “Stop it.” His grip tightened viscously before he released her and leaned back into his seat, fiddling once again with his crown.  Johanna annoyed, squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to stop rolling them at him, and clasped her hands in front of her in an effort to remain still.  She sighed and opened her gaze to peer at her husband.

Sitting high on his black polished seat Emrik, with his frightening ice-colored eyes took in his throne room with a dispassionate glance. Irritation rolled off of his person as one of his knights barged into room, unannounced.

Sir Tipton stopped short of the throne and bowed. Even in the badly lit castle the violent scar that ran from edge of his left temple down to his neck glinted red and wet, an angry testament to his hot-blooded and quarrelsome nature.

“Your Grace, the Ambassador to Spain wishes for an audience,” Tipton rasped.

“Fine, Send Ferdinand in,” Emirk said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“It is not Ferdinand.”

“What? Then who is it?”

“Ferdinand disappeared, he…” Tipton fumbled trying to unroll the parchment in his hands.

“Stop, I don’t care,” Emrik hissed leaning forward with a snarl. Tipton flinched and crumpled the missive in his hands as he glared at the king. Emrik matched his gaze with a cold smile, “Just, Send him in. Now.”

Eyes flaring Tipton growled and stomped back to throw open the castle doors with a violent pull. Johanna’s eyes widened as she recognized their visitor. Pale and dressed in red clothing of such a shade that he might almost be mistaken for a cardinal, the new Ambassador proudly strode into the chamber.

“May I introduce his Excellency…”

“Finnian Byrne.” Johanna said excitedly at the sight of her former tutor. She rose from her seat and strode towards the ambassador, ignoring the various murmurs from the members of court.

“Your Excellency it has been too long.” Johanna felt herself smile for first time in ages.

“Yes it has,” Byrne bowed as he stepped towards her. “My lady you’re as beautiful as your mother,” Finnian smiled gazed at her. She behind her, Johanna could practically hear Emrik grinding his teeth as she gently squeezed the ambassador’s hands amicably.

 “You have not changed at all Sir.” Johanna grinned ignoring the sensation of her husband’s angry stare boring into her back.

* * *

 

Heavy cold air brushed across her cheeks and tugged restlessly at Johanna’s heavy cloak as she and Emrik took a turn crossing the castle parapets. The thick evergreen forest bent and waved as wind shifted and dragged itself through the trees. Black storm clouds drifted lazily along the empty grey sky, threatening to break. It might almost been breathtakingly beautiful, had Roland’s grip on her hand not been so tight.

“And Alaric?” she asked breaking the silence, and attempting to pull away.

“He is enjoying his lessons with Father Wihtred that is all you need to know.” Roland said barely looking at her and tugging her arm back towards him.

“I have a right to know more than that Emrik. I want to see my son.”

“No.”

“Emrik...”

“I said No, Johanna,” Those cold eyes flared and for a brief moment she fell silent before anger surged through her chest and she twisted her arm out of her husband’s grasp.

“I am _not_ going to take No for an answer, Roland.”

 The King took a threating step forward, his features contorting into an ugly snarl.

“Why you…” He started only to be cut off by a soft polite cough behind them.

“Am I Interrupting something?” Finnian inquired as he fiddled with the fur lining of his cloak, the image of innocence.

“No,” Emrik snapped leaning back and quickly grabbing Johanna’s wrist. “The lady and I were just discussing private matters.”

The edge of Finnian’s mouth twitched upward, “Forgive me, but Sir Tipton is looking for you, he said something about the Danes.”

Roland’s grip became almost painful and Johanna tried to pull away from him, not bothering in being subtle.  As she expected the Ambassadors blue eyes flickered to their joined hands, his smile becoming strained.  
“If it pleases you, perhaps Her Grace can show me around the parapets while you and Tipton engage your affairs.”  
“It will not please me Finnian,” Emrik replied frostily but let her go none the less. Roland glared at Byrne before turning on his ankle and stomping past them and out of sight.

For a moment neither said anything as they stared into the empty space between them.

“So, you will be leaving tomorrow.” Johanna said staring up at the Ambassador.

“The negotiations with your husband proved fruitless, but no one in the Spanish court was expecting otherwise.”

“One day you shall have to tell me how a tutor to an English king became the ambassador to Spain.”

“It’s a long and unpleasant tale, My Lady. Truthfully I was drunk for most of it.” Finnian laughed and ran a hand through his pale blond hair, his blue eyes shifting from her face to the sky as if trying to forget a memory. She gave a weak chuckle in response and began to continue her walk along the castle wall.

“I shall miss your company your Excellency.” Johanna murmured, trying to push against the wave of nausea that threatened to overcome her at the thought of being left alone again.

“Tell me my lady, are you happy here?”

The question seemed to come out of no where and Johanna turned to glance back at her oldest friend. Finnian cocked his head to the side looking at her questioningly. “I know the answer Johanna but I need to hear it from you.”

Johanna glanced around the castle walls wary, he husbands “friends” tended to be everywhere. Paranoid that the wrong person could be listening she pulled her lips back into an empty smile and lied.

“I am as happy as is expected.”

“Johanna.” Finnian sighed wearily.

 “The wheel of fortune rises and falls, My Lady.” He said meeting her gaze before taking a step towards her. Johanna shivered and drew her cloak about her protectively.

He continued forward, “The Danes are growing bolder in their attacks. Emrik’s need for soldiers is becoming well known, and your father is concerned for your wellbeing.”

She let out a dismissive snort.

The ambassador stopped and leaned against the cold stone railing of the parapet, looking over at the fog covered landscape. His breath misted in the cool air as he breathed.

“Edward wants you home but not against your will, I can make it so that you see your son again.” Johanna’s eyes snapped to his, surprised. “So I shall ask you to be truthful with me, are you happy here?”

Johanna gazed at Finnian, taking in his pale blonde hair and sincere blue eyes. To the dark cold stone walls of the castle, then back to him.

   
“No.” She answered.

* * *

 

There were two things that Johanna had to acknowledge about her husband, he was a brilliant naval captain, and, when he wanted to charm potential allies, he could set a generous and appetizing table.

 In front of her lay dishes of Thick leek soup and warm crusted bread. Trout poached in Almond milk visibly steamed from its pot as the cook removed the lid, honeyed ham lay warm and inviting on a bed of mashed turnips, and Roasted lamb stuffed with mushrooms was served in generous portions to all. The soft scents of the spiced meats and wine swirled in front of her. Johanna, however, ate nothing; rather, she poked and prodded at the ham and buttered carrots that lay on her platter and vaguely listened to the clattering of plates and the laughter of their guests as Roland ordered more wine.

“Ah, King Roland” Lord Giles Gareth sighed contentedly as he drowned down another goblet of wine, the red liquid dribbling past his lips and into his white beard. “You make a pleasant host, but I know that regaling me with your naval adventures is not why you invited me here.”

Emrik chuckled good naturedly, “Lord, what are you implying?”

  
“You want something, tell me what it is so that I may tell you No and I can go home.” Gareth replied with a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Lord Gareth,” Roland shook his head but the old man cut him off.

“The answer is No, Emrik, I will not be giving, loaning, or promising my soldiers to help you keep your castle from the Danes.”

Her Husband coughed in an attempt to hide his growl, “Giles that is not why I asked you here.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Hm,” Gareth hummed in disbelief and popped a bit of trout into his mouth. “Because, I heard that the Danes recently attacked a village under your protection not but three days ride from here.”

Johanna raised her knife and cut into ham, watching the storm brew in her husband’s eyes. Roland opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by Gareth who twirled his fork in his large hands with mock thoughtfulness. “And that you knew they would attack but that you could not raise enough men to take up arms.”

Johanna bit into the small piece of ham and chewed carefully watching with some amusement as Roland was visibly fighting with himself to maintain his polite smile. He moved his chair closer to Gareth. The old man smirked at him.

“Are you denying that you are in need of men to defend this castle Emrik?”

“Giles,” Roland started, clenching his fist in frustration as the doors to the dining hall flew open.

“My King, we have some visitors,” Henry the attendant strode into the room, his face red and worried. “Later.”

“But.”

Roland ignored him.

 “My lord please… we have-“ Emrik held up his hand.

“We have men to defend the Castle, Giles, I am not worried.”

Johanna scoffed, “a hundred men, barely enough to guard the parapets. If you cannot see the issue with that, then perhaps you should return to your ships.”

A vein in Roland’s forehead pulsed as he cocked his head to the side as both he and Gareth turned to look at her.

“Oh? What do you mean, Wife?”

“You’re a man of the ocean, My Lord. Sea Monsters are strongest in the water. But…” she paused to take a bite of the carrot and glared at her husband from across the table, “Take them out of the sea and suddenly they collapse under their great weight into a heap of nothing.”

The room fell silent.

“Aha! I will take that as my cue to leave,” Gareth chuckled patting his enormous stomach as he rose from his seat. “When the woman speaks with more sense than the King, Giles must flee.”

The Great lord waddled from his seat, barreled over poor Henry and called his own attendants to him with a loud snap of his over large fingers; they followed him without a word. Soon the only ones remaining in the hall were members of Roland’s house.

Emrik’s eyes flickered with barely restrained rage. Visibly struggling to maintain his composure Roland gave her a tight smile and downed the rest of his wine. Johanna watched the way the chorded muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed and gripped the knife in her hand so hard it began to ache.

His remaining advisers watched the both of them nervously, before rising from their seats and excusing themselves. Emrik placed his now empty goblet back onto the surface of the table, close to him. He stared coldly at her, running the pad of his middle finger along the cups rim, over and over again.

He leaned back into his seat and chuckled, “My wife thinks she knows how war is made.”

Johanna matched his gaze and raised her chin proudly. “I am my father’s daughter.”

His mouth twitched. “Right…”

Emirk’s jaw clenched, and his hand stilled. For a moment no one moved. The servants present seemingly having forgotten how to breathe. The grip Roland had on his cup tightened and without a moment’s hesitation, Johanna instinctually ducked, barely managing in time to avoid the goblet as it catapulted past where her head had been.

“You are MY WIFE!” Emrik roared launching himself from his chair with such force that the seat flew back several paces. It fell to the floor with a deafening crash. If possible Johanna gripped the knife harder and forced herself to remain seated, as her lord husband paced along the opposite edge of table like a caged beast.

“Mine!” he snarled smashing his palms against the table.

“You are not a diplomat, not my minister, but my wife and your will remain silent when I speak of military affairs, I. AM. THE. KING!!” Emrik screamed, his red hair flopping in agitation as he shook his head.

“You are nothing but a crowned fool!” Johanna snarled back, stepping away from the table becoming vaguely aware that at some point she too had also risen from her seat.

Emrik’s face contorted with rage, and as soon as the words flew out of her mouth Johanna knew he was going to launch himself at her or at least he would have, had a dagger not imbedded itself in the table between them.

Surprised, the both of them turned. The soft twang of the blade still quivering within the wood was the only sound in the room. Johanna blinked. Standing between their shocked servants stood Finnian, side by side with the strangest group of soldiers she had ever seen. One of them stepped forward and pulled the blade out of the table and back into its sheath on his belt in the blink of an eye. Dressed in dark leathers the man was smaller in height than Emrik, but was broader in his shoulders, the streaks of white and grey within his long dark hair and short cropped beard were the only indicators of his age. Intelligent Gold eyes flickered from Johanna, to the knife in her clenched fist, then to Roland.

Seemingly unperturbed by what had just transpired, Finnian strode forward and offered a stiff bow and motioned with his hands towards the silent stranger that was standing before them.

“Your Grace, My lady, as your courtier was trying to announce earlier, I present to you General Sadik Demir who has recently returned from military campaigns in the east.”

Roland, still in shock, said nothing.

Finnian paused and glanced at Johanna, his blue eyes glinting merrily at her before he addressed Emrik once again. Confused, she openly stared at the ambassador.

“The General is here on behalf of his grace King Edward… Lady Johanna’s lord father” Finnian coughed awkwardly, “to, and I quote, ‘Look upon and determine the wellbeing of his Majesty’s most precious daughter.’”

As the words left the Ambassador mouth, Emrik’s face shifted from rage to horror. The General himself remained silent. His amber eyes were pinned on her husband with an intensity that was almost inhuman. Emrik caught his gaze and paled.  
“General, surely there are other things that you wish to see before you make an assessment,” Finnian smiled civilly. The General brooded silently. The other soldiers looked to one another waiting for his order.

Finnian stepped forward and tapped the man on the shoulder, “Sadik? Forgive me, General Demir?”

“There is no need Finnian.”

Gold eyes met Johanna as the General turned to observe her.

“I’ve seen enough.”

* * *

 

The Syrian was throwing his hands around in demonstration, though she did not understand the language that he was speaking. It was low, guttural and nothing like she had ever heard. But she had the inkling that the soldier was mocking her husband as His black eyes twinkled with mirth and the other soldiers laughed.

“Did I not tell you I would get you out of here?” Finnian strode over to her with a smile. Johanna smiled, “I am grateful for your effort Finn, but until my son walks out of that castle I am not convinced. And I will not leave without him.”

Her former tutor took no offence to her words but chuckled. “Sadik will be walking out of that Castle with your son, of that, I have no doubt.”

“You do not know Roland.”  
“Roland is not a difficult man to know,” Finn shrugged, “It is you who do not know Sadik.”

“You speak highly of him.”

He smiled and scratched at his jaw, “He is a good man Johanna.”

 “How long have you known him?”

“Oh we’ve known him a long time.” A voice chirped from behind Finnian.  
The Syrian was pulling his horse and was fiddling with a war horn as he walked towards them. “Centuries, one might say.”

He flashed a handsome smile, “I’ve personally known him for --.”

“Ashur.” Though he did not raise his voice, The Generals words cut through the conversation and instantly they all fell silent. General Demir was walking towards them. His gait was slow and he was slightly hunched over to the side to allow the small chestnut-haired boy beside him to have a better grip his hand.

For the briefest of moments, Johanna forgot to breathe. How long ago had it been that she last held her son? Alaric hadn’t been walking yet and Johanna with distressed awareness, realized, that she had missed her son’s first steps. Johanna’s heart gave a sudden lurch and without thinking she ran towards them.

“Alaric!”

Her son said nothing but shuffled back a few steps.

“Say Hello to your Mother,” The General intoned quietly and gently pushed her son towards her.

“Hello,” Her small boy looked up at her with curious grey eyes as she moved to kneel down in front of him.

“mon trésor,” Johanna smiled. She closed her eyes briefly and focused on the cold brush of air against her face and the hard packed dirt digging into her knees before she forced back a sob as she realized her son did not recognize her. Opening her eyes she slowly held out her arms encouraging her son to come closer. Alaric shuffled from one foot to the other, took a step forward and then paused to look up at The General. General Demir sent her a sympathetic look and guided Alaric closer to her, before pulling his hand away.

Johanna’s heart beat painfully against her ribs as she wiped away some of the moisture that had collected in the corner of her eye and gently gathered Alaric in her arms in a tight hug.

“Qui est le plus beau garçon du monde?” Johanna sighed, kissing Alaric’s soft cheek and gently brushed her fingers through his wavy auburn hair.

“Je ne sais pas.” Her son blushed and shrugged before he wrapped his small arms around her neck and returned her hug. Johanna inhaled and her chest constricted painfully.

For the briefest of moments, nothing else mattered.

“My apologies My Lady but…We have to go,” The General said, not unkindly.

Reluctantly she set Alaric down.

“What are we to do now?”

“He can ride with Medina.” The General motioned towards the Syrian. Medina smiled and picked up her son and placed him on his horse, before jumping into the saddle.

“You know how to ride?” Ashur asked cheerfully. Alaric shook his head. “Father wouldn’t let me.”

The Syrian’s grin widened. “Well consider this your first lesson, grab the reins.”

“Sigurd, take a few of the others and follow behind us through trees. Make sure we are not being followed.” The General ordered at a grouping of trees at the edge of the path. Johanna looked at him in confusion before a tall youth with thick tawny hair and a scar running from his left brow down to his chin stepped out of the shadows from behind a large Alder.  Sigurd silently motioned towards a few members of their party and quickly they moved towards the forest, their retreating figures disappearing in the blink of an eye. Sigurd moved to grab his horse, when he paused and turned around removing a thick cape from around his shoulders he stepped towards her and quickly held it up to her face.

She flinched, “what are you doing?”

“Take the plaid m’lady.” Sigurd offered the thick blanket towards her once again. “It’ll rain soon and you don’t want to fall ill.”  From over his shoulder Ashur paused Alaric’s riding lesson to mutter something in that strange language to his friend. The result of his commentary had Sigurd blushing profusely and refusing to meet her eyes as she reached over and took the blanket.

“Thank you, “ Johanna said as  Sigurd bowed slightly before moving towards Ashur and raising a hand, smacked the Syrian across the back of the head.

“And me? General Demir?” Johanna turned to look up at the stoic man. He peered at her thoughtfully. In the distance thunder rumbled.

“You may address me as Sadik.” He answered softly while testing the straps on his rides saddle before lifting himself up onto the horse.

“Why?” She asked without thinking, the informality of his request surprising her. He blinked but did not seem offended by her bluntness and offered a small reassuring smile.

 “We will be riding together for over a month, and I imagine its best that we start to get acquainted.”  
 The great brown stead padded towards her.

 “And if it pleases your Grace, you could ride with me.”

  
“My husband was not generous to provide me with my horse?” Johanna said more as a statement than an inquiry while she ran her fingers through the horse’s mane.

  
“Afraid not My Lady,” He replied.

“Then it will please me just fine General,” Johanna replied nodding as she moved forward. He bent over and lifted her up to place her in front of him with surprising ease.

“Your husband was not willing to part with anything if I am to be honest.”

“May I ask what you said to change his mind?” She asked flinching as a cold drop of rain landed on her forehead.

 “Nothing that should ever be repeated in a Lady’s presence.” The General gave a soft chuckle.

The rain was starting to fall in earnest now.  Johanna blinked away the water from her vision and watched as a few paces in front of them Ashur Medina unclasped his cloak and draped it around Alaric’s tiny shoulders protecting him from the cold.

“May I have that?” The General gently pointed towards the thick blanket in her hands. Johanna handed it to him.

“Lean forward please.”

“Will we be riding all night?” She asked, stiffly moving forward as the he wrapped Sigurd’s plaid cape around her and adjusted it to cover her head.  

“Yes,” He answered with a sigh, reaching around her to grab a hold of the reins, “and most of tomorrow too I reckon, maybe even the day after that.”

Johanna said nothing, and the General, misinterpreting her silence for displeasure added hastily, “It is just until I am certain your Lord Husband isn’t following us and then we’ll rest properly, you have my word.”

“I am no stranger to long rides Sir, my concern is for my son.”

“Of course,” The General exhaled, his breath clouding in the cold.

From beneath the hood Johanna observed the sky turn a vicious black as the dark storm clouds finally overcame the dying sun. The rain began to come down in icy sheets, drenching the dirt path. The soldiers began to curse loudly and made a mad dash to cover themselves from the freezing shower. The Syrian watched and laughed at his companions, before leaning down and instructing her son to direct the horse over to Sigurd.  They encircled the young soldier who by now looked more like an irritated, drenched cat.  He glared unhappily while Ashur rode around him, and her son giggling at the Syrian’s encouragement, tossed a blue cloak over Sigurd’s head making him look like a wet indigo specter, much to delight of the others as they began to laugh.

“Move out.” General Demir ordered and instantly the others scrambled to obey.

As they slowly rode away, Johanna twisted around briefly to look over the Generals shoulder, back at Roland’s castle. The great black stone walls loomed menacingly towards the stormy sky, the heavy downpour gave the castle a dark hazy almost mirage like appearance, a place of nightmares.

Twisting back around Johanna shivered.

* * *

 

 

It had been a month. A month of riding, a month of getting to know her son as well as the strange group of soldiers that were her constant companions. And now they were only a day’s ride away from her childhood home, her father’s castle. As much as Johanna was elated she couldn’t help but feel the slightest sorrow at their eventual parting. Sadik’s soldiers were a rowdy group, an unlikely mesh of cultures, temperaments and skills that had no business working with each other and yet the General, with parental like authority and a tremendous amount of patience had somehow molded them into a fine, albeit, small militia, capable of feats that Johanna never thought possible from such a diverse group.

She sighed contentedly and wrapped Alaric in Sigurd’s plaid, kissing her sleeping son on his warm brow. Next to her, Sadik was tending to the fire.

Across from them Ashur laid several blankets on top of one another on the floor and laying down on one corner grabbed the edge of the blankets and promptly rolled himself up into a ball. The dark top of his hair was the only thing visible beneath the sheets.

 “Has he always been like that?” Johanna asked giggling as she pointed to Ashur’s snoring form.  
“Yes.” Sadik replied with a laugh going down to one knee and placing a few more logs onto the fire.

“Believe it or not he was worse when he was younger.”

“I do believe it, also he told me a very interesting and scandalous rumor about you and the Queen of Spain.”

 “It is not true Your Grace.” Sadik coughed awkwardly while Ashur giggled in his “sleep.”

“Johanna.”  
“Hm?”  
“You may address me as Johanna.”

Sadik blinked, his gold eyes warmed as he nodded at her, “Johanna then. And I say to you again Johanna, it’s not true. I deny it.”  With those words he lightly threw the stick that he had been using on the fire towards Ashur’s snickering form. A small “ow” emitted from the blankets as the stick hit true and nailed the visible pile of hair. Shaking his head Sadik moved to sit next to her, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement.

“You are a terrible liar Sadik,” Johanna answered elbowing his side gently. He looked at her surprised.

“What?”

“Nothing,” He smiled and returned to staring at the fire in front of them. They settled into a comfortable silence.

“Tomorrow I will finally be home.”  
“Does that please you?”  
“I’m not sure yet, at first that was the only thing that I wanted and now.”

“Now?”  
“Now I think I will miss traveling with you and the others.” Johanna paused, “Where will you all go?”

“It depends I suppose, on who hires us next.” Sadik answered as he scratched at his greying beard.

“My Father is always in need of more soldiers,” She looked at him, “Perhaps you could stay?”

Sadik’s amber eyes caught her gaze as he turned to look at her, “Would you like that?”

 Johanna smiled at him and nodded.

* * *

 

“General, I wish to reward the man that has returned my daughter.”

“No reward is necessary Your Grace,” Sadik replied politely.

King Edward shook his head, “I insist.”

Sadik looked to Johanna and she gave a soft encouraging nod.

“With respect Your Grace, I humbly request the Killahead Forest and the right for my men to settle there as payment.”

“There are going to be more of you?” Her brother asked unhappily. “Father please we can’t let more foreign heath--”  
“Be silent Henry.” King Edward cut him off.

Her father weighed the soldiers long and carefully with his eyes. “Done, General Demir I give to you and your soldiers the forest of Killahead to do with as you please.”

Satisfied, Sadik bowed deeply and moved to lead his men away, when Henry angrily asked, “and what is the first thing you are going to do?”

“Why I think we will build a bridge.” Sadik’s amber eyes flickered from Henry then to her father.

 “A bridge?” Edward chuckled along with the rest of the court, “In the middle of a forest?”  
“Purely symbolic your grace,” Finnian flashed a soft smile, “The Killahead bridge will be a symbol of our two worlds meeting.”


	2. 15 Years Later: The Twelve

_As they moved along, the last remaining tendrils of dying light of the setting sun turned the evening sky from blood orange to a deep dark indigo. Blinking against the debris flying through breeze, Dictatious Galadrigal adjusted the cloak on his shoulders and kept to the shade provided by the large looming trees, trying to maintain his balance.  The cold dusk air bit at his cheeks as he walked. Ahead of him, he could see the fading shadows of his traveling companions crawling along the forest floor.  On this side of mountain the strong northern wind kicked up dust and pushed back against the traveling trolls. A particularly strong gust of wind forced Dictatious to stumble backwards, crashing into one of his companions.  “Keep moving Galadrigal.” Qarl smirked, pushing Dictatious forward with a playful shove. Behind him some of the trolls snickered, and with a huff he continued to shoulder his way uphill inhaling the sweet scent of flowers._

_The students of Bodus, Twelve in all, slowly made the trek up the Italian mountain side._

                                                                                          

* * *

 

_It had taken them hours to unpack, mostly because they could only stare in awe at the great cavernous mountain that they had found themselves in._

_Giant carvings of various intricate patterns aligned themselves along every wall. At times the lines grew so fine it must have taken weeks to complete the design._

_It was Magnificent._

 

_“What is this place?” Dictatious breathed._

_“This young Dictatious, was once the main stronghold of the Silivian Mountain Trolls,” Bodus stated raising his arms to showcase the exquisite craftsmanship of the carvings within the stone walls._

 

_“Magnificent Miners and craftsmen, they were once contracted to design Trollmarket, but the deal fell through after a particularly deadly game of Pyrobligst. The Silvians were the greatest sculptors of our kind.”_

 

_“That is, until a changeling army swept through these very caverns and drove them to extinction.” A voice behind them broke through, with a small wet laugh._

 

_Dictatious turned to see the small young gray troll Odo walking towards them. Odo smiled as he approached. And Dictatious couldn’t help but frown, as the younger Troll fidgeted nervously and padded his way to observe the wall, his blue eyes shining with unrestrained delight._

_“Oh the history that was made here,” Odo breathed in awe, running a claw gently along the stone._

 

_“I hope that you are not referring to the massacre of an entire tribe as something to be in awe of.” Dictatious huffed annoyed, watching his breath mist in the cool mountain air._

_“Isn't that all that history is?”_

_“No.”_

_“You're sure?”_

_This time Dictatious didn't bother to bite back his annoyed growl. “Yes. I'm sure.”_

_Odo spared him a small thoughtful glance. “You’re a historian aren’t you? Is it not the way of the world, that there are those that conquer and those that are conquered? Why disapprove of what always has been?”_

_“There is more to it than that.” He exclaimed angrily._

_“Really?” Odo’s smile grew larger and he opened his mouth to reply just as Bodus walked in between them ._

 

_“What is right? What is wrong? If it's the victors who write history, does it even matter in the end?” The older Troll smiled at them fondly, “A question that I expect you and the others will answer in our discussion.”_

 

_He motioned to the Trolls, who were still unpacking._

 

_“Gather around, we will discuss this now.” Master Bodus exclaimed his waspy voice echoing within the mountain as the others sat in a circle around him._

 

_“We will start with this, what are the three rules to being a trollhunter?_

_Eyes narrowed suspiciously Dictatious answered reluctantly “always be afraid, always finish the fight, and when in doubt always kick them in the gronk-nuks.”_

 

_“Careful some of us need those” Qarl snorted and the rest of the students laughed in unison, with the exception of Odo who watched on in silence, his blue eyes studying them all with vague interest._

 

* * *

 

_And so it had gone on for several hours, Bodus and his students debating various philosophies, coming up with conclusions and arguing over others._

_Dictatious rolled his eyes. “And rule number three?”_

_“Well that's obvious.”_

_“Is it?”_

 

_“Trolls aren't above using dirty tactics.”_

 

_“This is all very fascinating but i do have to ask where are we going with this?” Odo finally broke his silence._

 

_“We are heading towards the natural conclusion, that we as a species admire only those who have strength and power, that we are suspicious of any who might be stronger than ourselves and that using weaknesses is encouraged in order to gain an advantage.”_

 

_“So?”_

 

_“So, the only ones who benefit from this system are the ‘Strong.’”_

 

_“If an action makes you stronger, then by all means engage in it! If an action is disadvantageous you ought to refrain.”_

 

_“Wait,” Dictatious interrupted not liking where this conversation was heading.  
“Let’s say, if  I were to kill one of my fellow scholars for no other reason than he is  in my way of… let’s say a promotion. Who is to say that my killing is not wrong?”_

 

_“No one, Dictare, that’s the point. If it was advantageous to you and that is all that matters.” Qarl sneered._

 

_He frowned, “That means that there is no objective moral truth, no right or wrong.”_

_“Exactly! Dictatious!” Bodus cried out excitedly._

 

_“Who is to say our actions need to be moral so long as the outcome is to our benefit? If we have the power, the strength to do it, we should!”_

 

_“Therefore is it not fitting that the strong should lead?”_

_The students muttered amongst themselves._

 

_Bodus smiled. “Take for example the Gunmar.”_

_The chatter died instantly and The Students looked to Bodus warily, fear evident in their eyes._

 

_“Or would you prefer Deya?” Bodus continued undaunted by their discomfort._

_“Deya who has, against the advice of her councilors, opened the Trollhunters armies to include foreigners, despite the fact that there could be changeling spies in their ranks! She is the commander of her army only in name. For her soldiers have loyalties to their tribal leaders not her. Even now Her armies bicker amongst themselves and get nothing done!”_

 

_At this Odo cocked his head to the side and smiled._

 

_“I do not hear of dissention in the Gumm-gumm horde, they follow Gunmar willingly, out of fear or force it does not matter. They obey him and only him.”_

 

_Bodus growled and stood up, pacing along the floor. “Tell me truly who has true power? The commander with five armies? Or the commander with one?”_

_At this the scholar held up his hands.  The five claws of his left hand extended and his right hand curled into a tight fist._

 

_Dictatious shrugged befuddled, “The one with five armies.”_

 

_“You know little of war Dictatious,” Odo laughed, “The commander with one. One army united under one leader, with one purpose. No infighting.”_

 

_“Exactly,” Bodus let his arms drop and he nodded in approval at Odo, “Gunmar is the favored victor of this war.”_

_For the longest time no one said anything._

* * *

 

 

_Though he had very little talent in the art of war Dictatious could see that The Longsword was well forged. The gems embedded in the hilt gave off the slight hint of magical energy and Dicatare knew that with a proper swing the blade would hold strong and be capable of cleaving through the arm of any troll with little to no effort._

 

_Why on earth such a thing of such careful creation would be gifted to Master Bodus, Dictatious did not know. The old Master preferred to think about the causes and outcomes of war rather than be physically be a part of it._

_Huffing, Dictatious carefully placed the blade back onto the table and continued organizing the Masters study._

 

_“Dictatious? Still cleaning I see.” Bodus said cheerfully as he entered. An inordinate amount of parchment cradled carefully in his arms._

 

_“I wanted to get it done before tomorrow.” Dictatious answered. He paused and then added. “Sir.”_

 

_Bodus smiled and placed the stacks of papers on the edge of the table. They wavered precariously on the edge, before steadying for the briefest of moments and then toppled over to the side all over the sword, and various other items on the surface of the desk almost completely obscuring it._

_Dicatatious flashed the old scholar an irritated look and moved to clean it. The teacher merely ignored his annoyance and continued on speaking._

 

_“There is no need to address my as Sir, or Master, Dictatious. It’s not like we already have enough trolls with titles.”Bodus said disparagingly, shaking his head.  “Deya the Deliverer…I do not know why she is called that. She has delivered no one.”_

 

_“She has won several battles already,” Dictatious replied softly as he looked up briefly from his work. Bodus gave him an amused look._

 

_“Skirmishes at best, not battles, Once she faces a true battle against Gunmar, she will fail spectacularly and as for the bridges, Damascus was the one who started that little campaign, and you saw how that ended for him.”_

 

_Dictatious winced as the he briefly flashed back on the battle at Lake Regillus, the faded echoes of screams in the back of his memories. He shook his head, forcing the memories back._

 

_The scholar scratched at his protruding belly and gave a mocking chuckle,” And… I’ve heard rumors that, the bridges will no longer be an issue for the Gumm-Gumm warlord.”_

 

_Briefly, Dictatious paused in his cleaning. That was new. That, he hadn’t heard before, this was something Dreya would need to hear.  
Thinking fast Dictatious gave a small disinterested shrug and turned to place the stacks of parchment far from the edge of the table._

 

_“What do you mean?”_

_Bodus opened his mouth to comment, when a shrill scream erupted from the dark_ _entrance tunnel. Dictatious snapped to attention._

_“What in the world?”_

_“It’s probably Qarl playing a prank on Alare again. Stay here while I go settle them down.” Bodus grinned placing a hand on his shoulder briefly before he walked out._

 

_The old troll couldn’t have been gone for more than an instant when the heavy wooden door slammed shut. Bodus was back again and was bracing himself against the door, his massive chest heaving as he took deep anxious breaths._

_Bewildered Dictatious looked at the scholar in surprise._

_“Whaa?”_

_“Quick! Hide!” His teacher hissed his four eyes wide with panic as he dragged Dictatious to the back of the study._

_The door thundered violently against its hinges._

_“What’s going on?”_

_Bodus ignored him, and continued to push him towards one of the shelves._

_“Be quiet and when you have the chance… sneak out through the shelf” Bodus snarled and shoved one of his shelves to the side, revealing a small tunnel.  “And take this with you,” He continued, forcing a book in Dictatious arms. **The Final Testament of Bodus**_ … _Dictare blinked in shock. “I … I don’t understand.”_

 

_“Be quiet and do as I say.”_

_The pounding at the door continued. The violent cracking of splintering planks was getting louder and louder._

_Bodus shoved Dictatious out of sight just as the wood shattered._

 

_“Knock, Knock.” A sickeningly cheerful voice sounded from the dark tunnel. And from the darkness three shadows stepped into the light. The trolls that entered the study where odd in shape, their colorings were off, their eyes were slanted and emitted an unnatural light. Eyes he’d forever recognize since Lake Regillus._

_Changelings._

_Dictatious’s breath quickened as fear gripped him. He took a quick glance behind him to peer down the hidden passageway that Bodus had revealed. He shifted slightly to take a step closer to it._

_In the study the impure moved to encircle his teacher._

 

_“The Dishonorable Bodus, for a troll of your reputation You are very difficult to find,” An orange  changeling spoke, the gruff tongue of trollish was twinged with the slightest hint of a Gumm-gumm accent and Dictatious couldn’t help but wince at how wrong the dialect sounded  to his ears._

 

_Bodus growled and puffed out his chest in a failed attempt to look confident. Carefully the old troll moved around the edge of the table trying to put some distance between him and the changelings._

_Dictatious looked back and realized where the scholar was headed._

_A half a step more and the hilt of the longsword would have been in reach._

_One of the changelings, fuchsia in color stepped close. Too close in his opinion. She would be in range of the swing of the blade._

_For a moment no one moved._

 

_Bodus lunged for the sword. It took less than a heartbeat, there was a flash of metal and the screeching of steel against stone filled the air, followed by his teacher’s scream of pain, a knife embedded deep into his wrist, pinning him to the table._

 

_“Long sword is a terrible choice in close quarters.” The orange changeling smirked giving the handle a subtle twist._

 

_Bodus gave a pained howl and withered against the table clawing futilely at the stone edge with his remaining hand. Horrified and sickened Dictare bit his fist to prevent himself from crying out at the sight._

_“Too slow on the draw Master Bodus.”_

_A familiar voice called out from the shadowed corner of the study._

_“Odo… you… you …” Bodus stuttered, his eyes glistened with tears and disbelief._

_“I’m… I’m… an Informant? Ja, I am but oh… I’m so much more than that Bodus.” Odo leaned over to smile at his teacher. A great flash of light filled the library and standing in Odo’s place was an adolescent dark haired human._

 

_Dictatious rubbed at his eyes, bewildered. Odo was… a changeling?_

_Bodus groaned and shook his head as if trying to shake away the sight._

 

_“See, I told you.” The Troll he had known as Odo wheezed as he handed the commanding changeling the parchment, “They’re all here, Stricklander, every student who has a copy of Bodus’s book are on this list.”_

 

_“I can see that, Otto, Excellent work.”_

_The changeling Otto beamed with pride while the one called Stricklander turned and perused the books idly, running his claws over the bindings of the books lining the shelves._

_“You truly have quite a collection, Bodus…What do we have here?” The changeling paused and grabbed a book from the self, sending a cold smile over his shoulder at the pained Troll hunched over the table. The sight filled Dictatious with dread._

 

_“The Final Testament of Bodus,” Stricklander’s smile grew larger as he turned around and walked back towards the table. “Seems rather prophetic giving the circumstances wouldn’t you say?”_

_Bodus moaned in pain. And One of the changelings shifted from side to side clearly uncomfortable._

_“Stricklander, Sadik… he wouldn’t… approve of this, prolonging it, I mean, can’t we just do what we came to do and get it over with?”_

_“Sadik would not, I agree with you Finn, but Gunmar…” Stricklander gave the other impure a calculating look, “Gunmar wishes to send a message to all of Trollkind.”_

_The changeling continued to look skeptical but nodded regardless. Satisfied Stricklander turned to leave._

_“Burn it all.”_

_“What about him?” Finn pointed a hooked claw towards Bodus who was weeping over his pinned hand on the table._

 

_“Leave him.”_

_With that Stricklander swept out of the library, followed closely behind by Otto. The others quickly drenched the study and the floor with slick oil._

 

_Panic immediately gripped him and without thinking Dictatious tucked the book within his cloak and ran towards through the hidden tunnel. Just as the soft click of flint striking and creating a spark hit his ears._

_Smoke filled the tiny space almost immediately._

_Ash covered his eyes and filled his mouth. He couldn’t see. Coughing Dictatious crashed and scraped along the tunnel walls. Desperation was causing him to panic. Behind him a terrible wailing echoed within the chamber._

_Bodus._

_Horrified, Dictatious reeled and covered his ears trying to dampen the terrible sound. The Heat from the flames was growing stronger and although his vision was cloudy, he could practically feel the fires grasping and clawing at the edges of his cloak._

_His heart felt like it would give out at any second. His legs were screaming in protest.  And every breath he took was thicker than the last._

_He kept running._

_And eventually the screaming faded, until it stopped all together._

_Dictatious did not allow himself to think on the implications of the silence that seemed to follow him as he ran._

_It was just as he felt like he could not go on for much longer, and that the smoke was going to overtake him that Dictatious began to feel the soft brush of cool mountain air against his cheeks._

_He was out._

_Relieved, he wiped at his eyes and turned away as the entrance to the mountain was engulfed in flames. Ash and smoke filled the air. He never once bothered to look back._

 

 

* * *

 

In the heavy silence that followed Dictatious’s story, Deya could hear her own steady breathing and the thump of her heart laboring in her chest. Dictare had been talking for hours, it seemed, but in the still darkness of the cave there was no way to be sure. She closed her eyes and thought.

 

 “What of the books?”

 

“They burned them all did you not listen?” Jorgah the Younger snapped. She ignored him.

 

“The copy that Bodus handed to you, I suspect you read it?”

 

Dictatious’s shadowed eyes blinked at her as he offered a small wary smile and produced a bound book from his satchel. “I’m afraid that from what I have read so far there is nothing to confirm if Bodus did in fact find a way to defeat Gunmar.”

Dictare leaned over and handed her the book, the hard cover fixed with runes, _The Final Testament of Bodus._

She frowned. “So he lied then, he didn’t figure out a way to end this war.”

 

“It is too early to tell Dreya, I have not finished reading it, whatever this book contains, Gunmar thought it important enough to hunt down and terminate not only Bodus, but all those he ever associated with.” Dictatious said quietly running one of his hands through his black hair.

 

“Allow me to continue investigating through the books I procured from him. I’m sure I will find something of use eventually.”

 

“Dishonorable to the end the lying snake” Jorgah the Elder spat on the ground in disgust. The troll fixated his one good red eye on Dictare and gave him a hard stare. “Those books are filled with vile things Dictatious, take care not to take what you read to heart. Bodus loved to blur the lines of right and wrong, and what’s worse is he loved to corrupt the minds of his students and convince them to think as he did.”

“I do not need to be lectured Jor! But this is the only lead we have.” Dictatious snapped clearly irritated.

“A lead from an unreliable source is no lead at all.”

“That is enough,” Deya commanded, her voice cutting down the argument before it started. She rose to glare at her commanders. “Enough arguing, we cannot win this war if we are fighting amongst ourselves. These books are all we have Jor, and we will use them.” From the corner of her eye she watched Dictatious smile triumphantly.

“But,” She turned to her friend and continued, “Jorgah also brings a valid point Dictatious, you spent too much time infiltrated within the ranks of Bodus and his students.”

Dictare turned to glare at her. Seemingly provoked he opened mouth to protest. Deya lifted her hand, cutting him off and met his angry stare with a keen look.

 

 “Do. Not. Argue. I am not denying the value of your actions my friend, you joined them under my orders, but now it’s time to focus on other things, other ideas. I want you to go to scout with our armies to the north.”

Worry shot through her as she observed Dicatious’s face cloud with barely restrained rage, before he forced himself to relax.

 

“And why, if I may inquire, do you wish for me to do that?”

 

“There are rumors that Gunmar is gathering more willing followers, I wish to find out if this is true. Go observe the Gumm-gumms, find out their recruiting tactics if they even have any, and send reports back to me.”

 

For a long moment Dictatious said nothing. Sighing he scratched at an eye before looking at Deya curiously, “What of the books? Who will read them, interpret them?”

 

“You will write to your brother and ask him to join us.”

“Blinkous?” Dictatious sputtered taken aback, “With all due respect Deya, I don’t want my brother here and besides….” He sniffed and adjusted the lapels of his cloak. “Mother will never allow it.”

 

The other trolls snickered quietly to themselves before they shut up when the Trollhunter flashed them a warning glance.

Deya smiled, “Well we’ll never know if you do not ask. Do as I say Dictatious. I want you traveling to the North by tomorrow.”

 

Dictatious’s frown deepened and with a curt nod turned to head towards the sleeping quarters, forcing his way through the others.

 

“Wait Just a moment, Dictare.” She called out as a sudden thought came upon her.

 

“When you’re up there try to find word of this new bridge Bodus heard rumors of, see if it warrants any concern on our part.”

 


	3. Dear, Blinkous

_The sensation of fast flowing wind beneath powerful wings, the sweetest of ambrosia, and Icarus elated, wonders to himself as he soars into the sky, by all the gods has anyone ever tasted something so fine? He doubts it. His father is screaming something at him, but the words are lost. How can the old man manage to think, much less speak at a time like this?_

_Could he climb higher?_

_Yes._

_Should he?_

_No._

_Yes._

_Yes, why should he to deny himself the pleasure? Opportunities like this are but once in a lifetime and the warm comforting voice of Helios is calling out to him._

_Come closer, come closer. Tell me what it’s like, for no mortal has ever learned to fly._

_The Gods have spoken, who is he to say No?_

_Muted memories of a father’s warning drifted idly through his mind, overcome by the scent of the sea, the glittering gold heat of the sun and the glorious pounding of his own heart._

Blinkous…

_Higher and Higher he flew, when presented with wings Man has no limits._

_His father is screaming again but it’s for a different reason. He says nothing to comfort his father, how can he? How can he think much less speak? when the sea is calling?_

_Deeper and deeper he sank, when lost there is No depth man cannot sink._

_The sensation of slow cold water dragging down his weakened arms, the heaviest of burdens, and as Icarus allows the waves to overcome him, he thinks idly;  by all the Gods has anyone ever seen something so black? He doubts it._

Blinkous!

“Hm?”

 Startled Blinkous Galadrigal snapped his head up quickly to look at the angry yellow eyes of the blacksmith glaring down at him.  
“Have you been reading this whole time??” Vega asked incredulous, shaking her massive hands at him in frustration.

“Well… I….”

“We are Blacksmiths in a time of war Galadrigal, we do not sit down and read, we work.” Vega said grabbing and hauling Blinky to his feet before pushing him towards her soot covered forge.

“Dreya has requested more weapons. Her army is heading east from Alsace to cross the Rhine.”

“Why?” he asked hastily stuffing his book into his aprons pocket, noticing for the first time the chatter and general panic that seemed to fill the underground, greenlit city of Smarag-dus. The chaotic energy of the city could only mean one thing, Refugees.

Vega sighed in frustration, before shoving handfuls of drifts and a hammer into Blinky’s arms.

“Because Galadrigal, Gunmar attacked a troll village in Vokietija.”

“Which one?”

“Breisgau.”

Cold fear crawled up his spine and Blinky stopped just sort of the entrance to the forge to turn and stare up at Vega, forgetting for a moment how to breathe. And for the first time since he’d known her Blinky could see uncertainty in Vega’s eyes.

“But…but that means.” _He’ll be preparing to attack us next._

“Yes,” Vega replied her voice having uncharacteristically soft, “The City is being evacuated, but we have to help Deya and get these weapons prepared and we don’t have much time.”

Blinky opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Vega as she raised a hand

“We. Don’t. Have. Time.  No more questions Blinkous, get back to work.”

* * *

 

**In the early days, when the only things trollkind had to worry about were Gnomes rising in rebellion and the occasional pixie infestation, and stories of a Troll born from a corrupted Heartstone were nothing more but dreadful tales meant to frighten fussy whelps, The City of Smarag-dus was a small, unimportant, albeit beautiful troll colony. The city’s foundation and placement near the borders of Francia and Germania, made it a strategic and natural rest stop for many traveling trolls.**

**Originally built below what would eventually become the Roman settlement of Divio, the city laid directly beneath and along, the Ouche river which was held at bay from flooding Smarag-dus by powerful magic. Magic, that when combined with the properties of water, prevented the sun that reflected through the Ouche from having any effect on the trolls below. The resulting “window” into the surface world allowed for the blue-green light of the river water to ripple and stream in across the city, giving Smarag-dus a lovely earthy glow and thus gave the Emerald city its nickname.  Legend had it that Merlin himself designed the city for trollkind, and it is for this reason that in times of war, Smarag-dus is considered a city of hope and sanctuary.**

**-Yexil the Wanderer, Beyond the Forked Road. Vol. 1**

_And now I fear this sanctuary is about to be abandoned permanently._

Blinkous thought , remembering Yexil’s writings as he worked, bored, on sharpening the badly chipped blade in his hands.  Did the Wanderer ever think that the places he would visit would be destroyed by war? He must have, for the traveler was dutiful in describing the history and the people of the cities that he visited.  Blinky wondered what it would be like to travel instead of working the forge.  As if sensing his lack of focus The grinding wheel sent furious sparks upward, as it worked and spun against the steel of the sword.

“Oi!”

He turned to look at the swords owner. Skinny, with one cracked horn the orange troll, looked at him with wide, brown, frustrated eyes. Kipski motioned towards the sword in Blinky’s hands.

“Ye done yet?”  
Blinkous inhaled deeply, pulled away from the wheel and turned, forcing a pleasant smile at Kipski.

“Not yet. Kip”

Kip’s brown eyes flickered from Blinky’s forced smile and the weak sword hovering about the still spinning grinder before the troll huffed unhappily and leaned against the doorway.

“Well keep goin’ then!”

Annoyed Blinkous opened his mouth to snap at him but he was interrupted by Kipski’s older brother Rudel, who came into the forge by body slamming his smaller sibling past the doorway, crashing onto the floor and causing the entire Smithy to rumble in protest.

“Oi Blink ye done yet?”

This time Blinky didn’t bother to hide his irritation and glared at the two trolls still lying on the floor.

_Great now there are two of them._

“Will the both of you get up?” He snapped at them.

“Ye hear wha’ ‘appned at Brei’gau? Tha’ Dy’is General murdered the o’lot o them.” Rud continued ignoring him.  Kip gave low groan into the ground, small soot clouds rising from where he breathed. “not one troll survived, not ah one.”

“Terrible, terrible and ye sure the Gum’um’s are on their way here?” Kip wheezed.

“Dy’is wa’ spotted travelin’ wes’ through the Black Fores’… aye they’ll be comin’ ‘ere, mark my word.”

Blinky paused, his foot hovering over the pedal of the grinder, and looked towards the conversing trolls.

“Oi! Finish tha’ sword o we can get ou’ o’here,” Kipski barked at him, finally shoving his brother off of him and rising from the ground.

_The sooner they leave the better._ Blinky thought before he sent another glare at the trolls and continued to sharpen the blade.

* * *

 

The light of the sun was starting to fade away from the Ouche, casting the Emerald City into darkness. All around him the sounds of whelps wailing in the arms of their parents and angry screaming trolls filled the air. Blinkous paid it no mind. He was almost done.

Back and forth Blinky set about constantly moving the blade, the better to disperse the heat evenly throughout the length of the sword, taking extra care to keep the swords tip out of the flame and not overheat it. Patiently he waited and observed the sword with a critical eye watching for it to get to the proper temperature. And finally, as it turned a dark purple, Blinky removed it from the forge. Maintaining his grip on the tongs he side stepped towards the barrel of oil. The metal hissed and sputtered in protest, flaring in anger as he quenched it, but it did not crack.

“Lovely, the handle isn’t blocky, feels right in the hand, well balanced,” Vega murmured to herself holding the sword at a length to observe the banding and mottling pattern within the blade.

 “Look at this pattern… how it flows along the width of the steel…like water.”

“Excellent work Blinkous,” Vega nodded at him before returning the sword to its scabbard. Unable to help himself Blinky beamed with pride as she offered him a rare smile.

Stepping forward Vega handed the sword back to him, and with her free hand pointed to his belongings contained in a large sack. “I took the liberty of packing all your things for you.”

“Thank you.”

Vega sighed and ran her hands over the blackened stone of her furnace, and took to rolling the lingering grey ash within her fingers idly.  She seemed to be lost in thought.

“Vega?”

Licking her lips the Old blacksmith appeared to come to a decision and looked Blinky in the eyes.

 “My friend Bagdwella was the only one brave enough to volunteer to bring the weapons to the Trollhunter.  After we deliver our shipment she’ll be leaving when the twelve knell tolls.”

“Alright,” Blinky said uncertain, “Why are you telling me this?”

“In case you choose to go with her.”

“Why would I—“

“Here,” She said shoving a piece of paper into Blinky’s hands. “This came for you.”

Looking down he immediately recognized the handwriting addressing the letter to him.

“Dictatious?”

* * *

 

_“Dictatious,” Blinky said in warning, scrambling after his brother, panic gripping him as he realized his sibling’s intent._

_“No! You have no right to lecture me on the dangers of getting involved with Trollhunters, Not after that whole fiasco with that imbecile Unkar.”_

_Blinkous flinched, and Dictatious must have seen, because his tone softened for the briefest of moments._

_“Which I know was not your fault Blinkous, but since then you’ve done nothing,” He waved his arms wide in exasperation, “ This family Has done nothing of value for this war and I am no longer willing to be indifferent to the suffering around us.”_

_“I’m leaving.”_

_“You can’t,” Blinky tried to plead with his brother. “After everything we have done to get away from this war and your intent is to walk straight into it?”_  
  


_“Do you mean to spend your whole life running away?” Dictatious snapped, grabbing a spare cloak and shoving it into his satchel before finally turning towards him, his six eyes flaring with irritation.  The words caught Blinky by surprise, and he looked miserably at his brother in silence._

_“Hm? Is that what you want Blinkous?”_

_“Well I—“_

_“—because I do not. I am leaving with Damascus and his army.” His brother said not bothering to let him answer as he swung the satchel over his shoulders, adjusted his hair beneath his hood and moved to leave._

_“I have made up my mind,” Dictatious paused at the doorway._

_“I promise I’ll write.”_

_“Wait!” Blinky shouted after his brother before he ran to his sleeping cot at the end of the cave and fumbled under the space beneath it. Grabbing what he wanted, Blinkous scrambled back towards his brother with his parting gift._

_“I know I will be unable to change your mind but please take this you may need it.” Blinky said smiling as he held the dwarkstone in front of his brother._

_Dictatious’s eyes widened to such an extent that Blinky briefly worried they would fall out of his head.  
“How did you—“ _

_“—Don’t…Don’t ask.” Blinky shook his head, “Just keep it until you need it.”_

_Chuckling Dictatious gently took the Dwarkstone and placed it in his satchel, and quietly pulled Blinky into a hug. “Figure out what you want Blinky… we are too long lived to go through life without direction… and take care of my library.”_

* * *

 

Blinkous,

I know that this is extremely late and that it has been months since my last letter. I hope that this has reached you quickly, for I have no doubt you have heard rumors of Gunmar’s attack on the Dishonorable Bodus and his students. In spite of what they were, and what they stood for, I wish with all my heart that I could tell you that they are only rumors, but wishing does little good. The assault was quick, calculated, and I know now that we were infiltrated by a changeling spy. I managed to escape the carnage but by all the sons of Rathar, I am still at a loss for I managed to do so. All I can say in reassurance is that I am unhurt, and am safe for now...

I only wish that Deya would listen to reason, I grow weary of spying. It’s draining, and lately, truthfully, I do not feel like myself. In this, and I entrust this only to you brother, I must express my admiration to the changelings, for their ability to use anyone and anything for their advantage regardless of who or what it is requires a great deal more force of will than most are willing to give them credit for. On Deya’s orders I have joined the ranks of our enemies. I have heard their stories, I have fought alongside them, I have shared with them the incommunicable experience of war. And… the entire time I have been lying to them. I am in earnest, I do not want to continue, but I must do my part same as any other. Which brings me back to the reason for this letter; Deya requested that I write to you. I am to go to the North and gather what information I can on Gunmar, and Deya hopes that you will be willing to join and take over my duties as an advisor.

There are things that I know for sure, one, Mother will not approve, and two, you will not enjoy it. But I have thought long and hard on it and I think you should join. It’s time you moved on from your last excursion with a Trollhunter.  Unkar’s failure was not yours. What else are you going to do? Continue apprenticing under Vega? I know you better than that Blinkous, it bores you, why even thinking about it now bores me. Come join us, help us end this war. I tell you now, Opportunities like this are but once in a lifetime Brother. Think on it.

Love,

Dictatious

* * *

 

 

It was the sound of the bells beginning to go about their laborious warning that brought Blinky back to the present. Vega stared at him sympathetically.

“Deya wants me to join her.”

“I know.”

He stared in silence and the clamor of the bells sounded for a second time, matching the beat of his heart pounding frightened against his chest.

“I …I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t you?”

_He could always say no, right?_

_Yes._

_No._

_He doesn’t mean to spend the rest of his life running away._

“I have to go.”

“Yes.”

“To the frontlines.”

Vega blinked, but said nothing.

Three times now they tolled, and his lungs were refusing to take on air.

“Mother…”

“I’ll tell her.”

He paused, reminded himself to inhale and looked around at the ash covered equipment of the forge and glanced desperately back up at Vega.

“I am called to war.”

“Nephew… are you--?”She cut herself off.

“I’m Scared,” He admitted staring down at the paper in his shaking hands and refusing to look anywhere else. Strong arms wrapped around him and Blinky leaned into the hug as Vega murmured kindly.

“Well Goodness Gracious, who isn’t?”

* * *

 

 

**The Peluda or La Velue as they were known in Francia, are rare and dangerous creatures. Few have the fortune to encounter one and live to tell the tale. Contrary to popular belief, the Peluda is not invulnerable, though it certainly looks like it upon observation. Massive, with strong jaws and venomous teeth, La Velue continue to grow as they age, and the largest one ever sighted was stated to be about the size of a human domicile. It has been recorded that at times the creature ejects scalding hot water from its nose to better regulate its body temperature and to keep its poison potent. But it is, in my humble opinion, the creature’s quills which are its most interesting feature. The Peluda’s body, from the back of the neck to the tip of its long spiked tail, is covered in long green quills. These quills are soft as feathers when at rest and give the beast the appearance of having a shaggy, fluffy mane. However when the Peluda is agitated or perceives a threat, the quills will grow stiff and excrete purple poison from their tips. Be warned, the Peluda has the ability to fire off these quills like arrows and are deadly accurate in their aim. Due to their reputation, and partly due to the medicinal properties one can obtain from their venom and poison, the Peluda has been hunted for Trollsport for the last two centuries, and the population has declined to the point of extinction. It is a shame really, for they are truly a wonder to behold, and I have been told that they can be domesticated if obtained at a young age.  The one I am currently observing is roughly the size of an ox making it, by my estimate, less than a year old. I will attempt now, to gain a closer look, and approach the creature.**

**\--The Final Journal entry of Iksos the Vigilant.**

 

He had read the last entry of the ill fortuned Iksos several times over the years and had found that some of the beasts the traveler had described to be too fantastical to be real. However, The Peluda that Blinky was currently gawking at was very much real, and it was massive.  Frighteningly so and it made Blinkous hesitant to approach the Troll that was currently adjusting the wagon straps that went around the creatures flanks. Vega seemed unaffected by the creature and moved towards the cart to load their shipment of weapons.

Taking a deep breath Blinky addressed the merchant turned smuggler.

“Are you … Bagdwella?”

The Peluda snorted a fine jet of steaming water out of its nose and Blinkous took a generous step back as one tired red rimmed eye pinned on him almost immediately when the Troll merchant turned.

 “That depends on who’s asking.”

“I am Blinkous and I was wondering—“

“The Trollhunter trainer?” She interrupted him.

“Yes, no…well no.”

She looked at him annoyed. And her pet Peluda, seemingly catching on to its master’s irritation, shook its massive shaggy head, its green quills rattling in warning, dark purple liquid dripping from the tips.

Blinky took another step back.

Seeing this, the Merchant chuckled and patted the beast on its scaled snout, where the quills did not grow, and immediately the creature relaxed.

 “Daffodil, be still.”

Blinky ‘s jaw dropped, “… Daffodil?”

“He likes to nibble on them.”

Dumbfounded, Blinky snapped his mouth closed and took a moment to collect his thoughts, before starting over.

“I need to head to the Front.”

“The Front?”  
“To Deya.”

“You and everyone else, Trollhunter Trainer Blinkous.”

“I am not—“ Blinky started to take a step forward towards the merchant, only to jump back when the Peluda pawed at the ground and huffed in irritation.

Bagdwella chuckled again, “Listen, I don’t care who you are but if you can’t keep up—“

“I can keep up.” He answered quickly raising his sword up and striking a pose.  Bagdwella exchanged a look with Daffodil, neither one looked impressed.

“You know how to use that thing?” The Merchant asked eyeing the blade in his hands skeptically.

_Not really._

“Yes.” He smiled as Vega came back around to the front.

“We’re loaded,” Vega said, patting Blinky on the shoulder, “And take him with you Bagdwella, please, as a favor to me.”

“Fine, hop on,” Bagdwella said clearly not believing him capable of keeping up but unable to find it within herself to care. She motioned with a small toss of her head towards the back of her cart. “We’re wasting moonlight.”

He made a move to go but Vega held him back.

“Be careful.”

“I will.” Blinky smiled before giving her a brief hug. He turned to leave and this time she let him go.

The Bell gave its final twelfth toll, just as Blinkous stepped up onto the cart and the wagon gave a violent lurch forward when Bagdwella snapped the reins signaling Daffodil to move.

“ah!” Blinkous, caught off balance, dropped his sword and screamed in surprise as he found himself falling backwards off the wagon until a pair of strong blue arms reached out and caught him.

“Careful now,” His savior chuckled as he pulled him into the cart. The younger troll seated next to him said nothing but picked up his sword to admire it.

“Give that back,” The larger troll snapped as he placed Blinky on the seat opposite them on the wagon.

“Sorry.”

“It is quite alright,” Blinky replied taking back the sword.

“I haven’t seen you two before. Where are you from?”

“Vokietija,”The two answered in unison.

“Ah,” Blinky said sympathetically, “I heard about the attack. I am sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

He paused, “If you fled to Smarga-dus to escape the Gumm-Gumm’s why are you heading back across the border?”

The older Troll paused and gazed at him thoughtfully, “Deya needs more soldiers, As long as Gunmar lives to bring fear and death to our kind, running away is pointless. It only prolongs the inevitable… we do not mean to spend the rest of our lives fleeing.”

Blinky sighed and said nothing.

 “You seem awfully young for this sort of adventure what’s your name?”

“Blinkous Galadirgal.” He replied, ignoring the snort of laughter from the younger troll.

“Forgive my son Blinkous, he forgets his manners,” The older troll apologized while sending his son a warning glance.

“It is quite alright,” He waved him off with a weak smile, “I am aware it’s dreadful, you may call me Blinky.”

The Troll nodded and scratched at his nose ring, “Blinky it is then, this is my son Draal and I am Kanjigar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I had planned to write The Through the Fires Series as a group of Letters from Dictatious to Blinky over the course of the Gumm-Gumm war, ending just before the battle of Killahead. It didn't pan out the way i wanted and the idea was scrapped, but the title of this chapter is in reference to the original idea.


	4. Briesgau- Three days prior

Briesgau- Three days prior.

 

The moonlight fell across the tops of the trees, streaming through the gossamer fog that crept over and draped the deep woods, turning everything a pale silver. It would have been beautiful, Sadik supposed as he stood at the very edge of a deadfall, looking down into the grass covered valley below, were it not for the hushed whispers of the wounded and the faint rancid taste of death that still lingered in the air. Distasteful reminders of Gunmar’s continued conquests. Sadik rubbed his forearms and sighed heavily, watching his breath plume in the cold night air. The faintest snap of a branch and movement brought his attention down to the thickest part of the deadfall. Frowning, Sadik allowed himself to drift and merge into the shadows of the woods, watching curiously, as a handful of trolls clumsily crawled out of the tangle of dead pale trees and carefully make their way down towards the valley of tall grass.

 

“Survivors?” Finnian’s lazy drawl floated from a thicket of brambles to his right and from his peripheral Sadik could see a set of yellow eyes flare red then shift to a grey-blue in an instant.

“Aye,” He nodded, moving to the side when the other changeling strode out of his hiding place to join him.

“Are you going to just let them go?”

 

“I think we can afford to give them a one night head start.” Sadik answered quietly. Observing how the tall blades of grass swayed in unison as the wind passed over causing ripples within the pale green waves of a living ocean, and the surviving Briesgau trolls that were wading through in a desperate bid towards safety. 

 

 “Gunmar wishes to get Deya’s attention,” Sadik raised his arm  towards the Briesgau group, “He now has it.” 

_ And i’ve had enough of death for one night _ .  Sadik left that last thought unsaid and though he never took his gaze from the tall grass, Finn’s blue eyes flickered with understanding for the briefest moment. 

“As you wish,” Finnian said noncommittally, though the tension in his shoulders visibly lessened. For a long while neither one of the changelings spoke, choosing instead to fall into companionable silence. The Briesgau trolls had now managed to make it to the safety of the farthest tree line, and now disappeared into the dark. Beyond that, Sadik mused silently, they’d be heading for the Rhine, in the hopes of making it to the Trollhunter. 

 

Sharing a look, the two changelings turned away, and began to walk along the frost covered path back to the main force. Drawing his cloak tighter around him, Sadik tapped his fingers against his lips and frowned. “We lose anyone?” he asked, reluctantly. 

“No. A couple of injuries nothing too serious.” Finnian’s answer misted between them in the winter air.

“Good. Good.”

 

“This country is too fucking cold isn’t it?” Finn coughed out a laugh and patted at his cloak before pulling out a wineskin and holding it out towards him with a faint smile. 

“Darklands are colder, Finn.” Sadik gave a half smile before taking a drink. The bitter liquid burned the back of his throat and Sadik grimaced outwardly wiping at his mouth, while his messenger barked out a short laugh.

“Is that wine?!” Sadik hacked, nearly tripping on a patch of icy leaves.  

“Well there’s wine in it.” Finn clapped him on the back.

“How can you drink that?” He wheezed.

“It’s an acquired taste old friend.” Finnian grinned taking a quick swig before hiding the wineskin back within the folds of his cloak. “And does the trick in cold weather.”

The two changelings continued along the half beaten path and walked into the small clearing in the forest, only to stop abruptly at the scene before them. In hindsight they should be used to the aftermath of Gunmar’s attacks.

 

“Fuck.” Finnian huffed softly.

“Siktir,” Sadik agreed, his entire body stiffening against his will.  There in a grassy sward dotted with pale mushrooms and faded stumps of fallen trees, the Twelve tribes of Briesgau littered the forest floor.  Their grey remains a poignant result of the Skullcrusher having enthusiastically lived up to his moniker this night. And in the corner, being corralled into crates by Gumm- Gumm soldiers, the youngest  Briesgau whelps were shaking with fear. 

 

There in the middle, Gunmar the Black stood proudly a top the corpses of the fallen. The top of his great horns were a bright white. The moon’s reflection tracing the edges with a smooth blade of pale white light. The Gumm-Gumm turned at the sound of their approach. And both changelings dropped to one knee.

“My lord.”

Gunmar snorted disdainfully and walked towards them, casually tossing the Decimar blade from one claw to another.

“The raid was a success in most aspects, though the Tribes failed to give me a decent challenge. Perhaps the The Trollhunter will give me better sport.”  

“Some of the Breisgau escaped.”

“Certainly took your time in telling me, Sadik” Gunmar growled out his name, his tone having taken a dangerous edge to it. He let the Decimar blade fall to his side and began tracing the ground with it, beginning to pick up speed in a threatening manner.

“I tell you,” Sadik started carefully not looking up from a frozen patch of grass, “that now there is no doubt they will tell Deya of what happened this night.

“ My informants Report are that she is currently in Alsace.” Finnian added next to him. “It will take her a week to cross the Rhine to engage you My Lord, should she so choose.”

“I do hope so,” Gunmar muttered as he pondered on the information, swinging his sword forward and  running a claw over the sharp edge.

“I have a gift for you, Sadik.” the Gumm-gumm said eagerly after a moment, turning to point his sword at the terrified whelps that were now crying from their crates. Fearfully sobbing the names of their parents they supposed.

“More soldiers for your order.”

 

“You are too kind,” Sadik said gazing at the whelps but not really seeing them before looking up to the vicious troll. 

Gunmar smiled at him then, flashing a row of sharp, and yellowing mismatched teeth, a smile of such cruel and hideous proportions that Sadik had to force himself to keep the Gumm-Gumms gaze, His mood having gone sour in an instant.

“Finnian make sure our new recruits get to the Darklands in one piece, we don’t need another mess like the Silvian incident.”

 

“As you wish,” Finnian nodded without emotion.

Losing interest in his subordinates, Gunmar turned and walked away making sure to step on as many corpses as possible on his way towards his main force.

The dismissal was clear. Slowly, both changelings stood, saying nothing.

Sadik turned towards Finnian who was brushing frost and dirt from his knee.The changeling said nothing as he stood, only pulled out the wineskin again and started to walk away. Taking deep pulls from it, some of the gold red liquid escaping the corners of his mouth and down across his throat.

“Well sleep well, Kaptan,” Finnian tried and failed to say properly in turkish. Looking at the crates that were being dragged across the grass. A dark cloud passed over his face for a moment, snarling Finn took another deep drink and continued to walk way.

“I have work to do old man.”

“Finn.” Sadik called out wearily.

“Good for the cold,” the changeling said licking his lips. He shook the wineskin high in the air with one hand and ruffled his hair with the other. 

“Also very good at erasing memories,” Finnian sighed before turning to his shelter. “If only for a moment.”

Feeling very old, Sadik scratched at his beard and slowly slid back into the dark. Ignoring the wind that chased him through the trees, and the shadows that twined between the tree trunks and thick brambles.

* * *

 

 

_ “Do you know where a changelings heart lies, whelp?” _

 

_ He starts at the unexpected question. For two weeks the newly released changeling had followed the Head of the Janus Order without a word being spoken to him. He blinks up at the older changeling warily and shakes his head.  _

_ “Lost the use of your tongue whelp?” Quintus growled back irritated. _

_ “N...No,” He stutters suddenly feeling very small, as the changeling takes a threatening step towards him. _

_ “Then answer when I ask you a question.” Quintus sneered. He can’t really help it when he flinches back another step. Quintus was  short, and squat, pale features that were cross hatched with too many scars, watery blue eyes that seemed permanently bloodshot and a nose that had been broken so many times it looked like a formeless red lump, stuck, unhappily, to the middle of his face. In short, Quintus Aurelius Celsus was an ugly creature both as a troll and a human. And when he sneered… well… the small changeling had to force himself to look the changeling in the eyes.  _ _   
_ _   
_ __ “I chose to drag you out of the Pits because you were the only one that seemed to have some wits about you,” Quintus took another step towards him, his scarred face turning an angry blotchy red. “I’ll ask you again… Do you know where a changelings heart lies, whelp?” 

 

_ “No, Sir.” He replied firmly, hoping that his voice doesn’t betray any of his nervousness. _

_ “Better.” Quintus leaned back and tapped a finger against a scar that ran along his temple.. There is a brief pause of silence, and he barely has time to take a breath before the older changeling picks him up and slams him against the cavern wall. The echo of the impact resounds throughout the darklands mockingly, as pain erupts in the back of his skull and when he looks down he sees that Quintus is holding a sharp golden dagger to his chest.  _

 

_ Immediately his heart pounds brutally against his chest in some vain attempt to escape. Frightened he looks up at Quintus in desperation, but the older changeling is smiling at him. He finds himself thinking that Quintus’ smile is uglier than even Quintus himself.  _

_ “Remember this, A changelings heart lies at the center of the chest, slightly left.”  the Head of the Janus order snarled. _

_ The dagger is pressed harder and  when he flinches, he feels something warm run down his torso.  _

_ “ A changelings heart is a human one, whelp. And a human heart is a weak thing in all aspects.”  _

_ He blinks up at Quintus, unsure if he is supposed to say anything. _

_ “You understand?” _

_ He doesn’t. _

_ “No.” _

_ Quintus smiles at him again, ugly and cold, before removing the blade from his chest and placing it in the sheath behind his back. “No?” _

_ “No, Sir.” _

_ “You will.”Those watery eyes glint bright red in the dark. _

_ With that the Head of the Janus Order turns away. Quintus doesn’t speak to him again for another month. He follows him regardless. The cut from that golden blade leaves a scar.  _

_ It’s his first. _

_ But not his last. _

* * *

 

  
  
  


_ It’s only after he is assigned and housed, that Quintus’ words begin to make sense. All changelings have to struggle with growing complacent. It’s not unexpected,  it’s only natural to grow comfortable on the surface world. For some, the transition of leaving their familiars family to fully immerse themselves in the Janus Order initiative comes naturally. For others, it happens with reluctant resignation, but for those few unlucky ones, there isn't much of an opportunity to prepare.  _

 

_ “It’s time to go Whelp.” Quintus’ now familiar growl drifts in from behind him.  _

_ “It’s Sadik,” He corrects, forcing his features to go neutral before turning around. It's been Sadik for nearly a decade now, his mother had finally settled on a name a year after his infiltration. Not that his naming meant anything to Quintus. To the older changeling he’d always be, “whelp.” _

_ As expected his words were not worthy of a reaction and the Head of the Janus Order shrugged his massive shoulders in an uncaring gesture. Sadik is struck with how ridiculous his commander looks in the middle of his families wheat field. The golden tall stalks contrasting horribly with Quintus’ red, scarred face. “It’s time to go whelp.” He repeats.  _

_ “Why?” Sadik asks rooted to the spot. _

_ “Your purpose here has ended.” _

_ “I’m supposed to-”  _

_ “- you are supposed to follow my orders,” Quintus snapped, his hand drifting to the dagger Sadik knows is behind his back. He also knows Quintus well enough by now to know that the movement was more for show than an actual threat. _

_ They stared at each other, the only sounds being the soft rustling of the wind through the wheat field and Quintus’ heavy wheezing.  _

_ “Why?” He repeats.  _

_ “You're no longer of use here.” Quintus glares at him and Sadik, though still small in height for his eleven years, glares right back. _

_ Quintus smiles, running his tongue over crooked broken teeth. Sadik represses a shiver as a chill crawls up his spine and regret settles in his chest _

_ “You're fathers dead, whelp. Poisoned by his enemies. His armies now conveniently belong to his brother. As for your siblings… they’re dead too.” Quintus shrugged again. “You'll inherit nothing, except, perhaps, your uncle's sword through your skull. Like I said, your use here has ended. Time to move on.” _

_ For a moment Sadik can’t really think, a strong pounding in his ears is blocking  the meaning of the words that Quintus is saying. A strong gust of wind filters through the field and brings with it the sharp taste of ash. Blinking in disbelief Sadik twists his head to look over the tops of the swaying stalks of wheat.  _

_ There is smoke. Ink, black and dreadful rising from were his home is supposed to be. His gaze drifts from the smoke to Quintus. The ringing in his ears is louder while those blue eyes observe him briefly before narrowing.  _

_ “Don’t.” Quintus growls out a warning but Sadik is already running.  _

_ He almost made it to the eastern gate. _

_ Almost.  _

_ The once bright polished red doors are clearly charred and splintered when they come into view, his fingertips barely graze the wood before the wind  is knocked loose from his lungs just as a massive weight crushes him to the ground, hard. _

_ Dirt fills his mouth, while angry trollish curses are being hissed in his ear by Quintus, who picks him up easily and drags them both back into the wheat field, narrowly avoiding his uncles vanguard. Dimly, Sadik realizes that the pounding in his ears is the sound of his heart.  _

_ “I told you,” Quintus growled somehow managing to tuck Sadik under his arm, as he carried him way. Away from the fields and his home. _

_ ” A human heart is weak. In the case of your ‘uncle’ his was easily corrupted by greed.” _

* * *

 

 

“Sadik,” Finnian’s voice drifted through the misty haze of his memories and prodded him  awake. “Sadik, wakeup.”

Groaning, Sadik rolled over and flung his arm around to push Finnian away, only for the other changeling to emit a small and irritated, “Oof,” when his elbow made violent contact with his jaw.

High above them through the thick canopy of leaves, the pale fingers of light pried his eyes open. He blinked blearily. 

“What is it?” He growled rubbing at his face.

“Not so loud,” Finnian winced sending him an irritated glare with his slightly bloodshot blue eyes.

“Serves ye right  _ A chara _ ,”  Sadik huffed in his worst gaelic accent, as he got to his feet, trying to shake away the sense of dread that the dreams had given him

“You alright?”

“I am well enough.” Sadik said simply.

Finnian chuckled and stood, raising his hood. “ We have to go.”

“Smarag-dus?”

“The Emerald city is the logical choice.”

“He wants the Order there first.”

“Observe and report.” 

“The usual then.”

“The others ready?”

“Aye, they are.” Finnian flinched pain fluttered across his features.

“Why are you making that face?”

“The birds that are chirping too damn loud? The sun is too bright? Neither of which are helping my aching head.” Fin snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing.

 

“Should stop drinking so much.” Sadik shrugged one shoulder. “ actually... I order you to stop drinking.”

“Seeing as that is a horrible order, I am electing to ignore it old man.”

“Insubordination is a terrible crime, Finn. I must insist.”

“In that case, I have a letter from Lady Johanna.” The blonde said smugly as he tapped his chest, the faintest sound of crinkling parchment coming from one of the inner pockets of his clothes.

“What does--”  Sadik started before he glared at Finnian. “Give it here.”

“Belay that order.” the changeling smirked

“You have no honor, sir.” Sadik huffed pinning him with a disapproving frown.

Finn shrugged dismissively, “Changeling.” 

“Fine, Finnian  _ Belay that _ , you can drink yourself into an early grave.”

“As is my damn right.” 

“Now give me the letter.”

Triumphantly his messenger pulled out a folded parchment and handed it over.  Sadik tucked it into the inside pocket of his leather brigandine and frowned at Finnian. “How long have you had this?”

“Two days, I just remembered it though.”

“How nice, with a memory like that perhaps I should find myself a new Messenger.”

“It would  be a nice reprieve.”

Sadik chuckled and reached down to gather his things into a satchel. 

Pulling on his cloak, Sadik ran his hand over the bright silver studs that covered his black leather brigandine and took a hold of his golden dagger. He frowned remembering last nights descent into the past. Shaking away the memories he discreetly sheathed  the dagger on his belt at his back, and adjusted it.

“Lets go.”

“We don’t have horses.”

“ We need to be discrete. We don’t need them, also walking is good for the lungs.”

“But bad on my knees,” Finn retorted before looking into the clearing that was still had remains of the nights raid.

Suddenly looking morose, he took out what appeared to be a different leather wine-skin from his inside his cloak. “Onward then to fight again, creator be good, do you think it’ll ever end?”

“It’s a bit early for that isn’t?” Sadik quietly his fellow changeling electing to not to answer.

“For you, maybe. We suffer enough as it is. This makes it somewhat bearable” Fin offered a humorless smile as he pulled the cork out with his teeth and drank deeply. 


End file.
